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Updated: June 13, 2025
You went too far for her, or, going so far, should have brought her back roughly speaking stronger. It doesn't matter, and not a solitary reader in your millions, or critic in your hundreds, will either have missed, or have made it! And when a book's beautiful, nothing does matter! I hope greatly to see you after the New Year. Good night. It's my usual 1.30 A.M. Yours, dear Mrs. Ward, always,
"Of course, you don't!" chimed in the woman, heartily. "A book's a book as long as it holds together. Besides some books are more valuable as they get older." "Sure!" agreed Johnnie. She left them and went inside. And Johnnie found himself being stared at by the man. The man was a millionaire. Johnnie noted this with a start. He had a way of recognizing millionaires.
'Now that it isn't coming out at all, you feel there's no hurry? Manisty looked annoyed. 'I don't think that's a fair shot. Of course the book's coming out! But if it isn't June, it must be October. So there's no hurry. The little cold laugh with which Eleanor had spoken her last words subsided. But she gave him no sign of assent. He pulled a stalk of grass, and nibbled at it uncomfortably.
Only I I seem to have seen something like it before, that's all." Sanderson, roaming around the professed archæologists, took the bronze from her hands. "I'll tell you where you've seen it, Mrs. Stewart. It's engraved in Egerton's Private Collections of Great Britain. I picked that up the other day first edition, 1818. I dare say the book's here. We'll see."
"The little book's beginning to do great things. He wants to restore the book, and make amends to Jane, does the butler; but he's been such a rogue, he's obliged to take himself away into foreign parts somewhere. But I don't doubt but what he'll come right in the end; the Word'll not let him alone till it's brought him to the foot of the cross.
Than any human being who is capable of perceiving that the literary quality of a book is largely affected by the fact of the book's not being rubbish, should seriously suppose that the saleable value of editions whether they are editions of a popular novel, or of a treatise on the conchology of Kamchatka, is proportionate to the number of letters in them arranged in parallel lines for Mr.
Yet many honest souls there be among us average-novel-readers in whose eyes this volume must rest content to figure as a collection of short stories having naught in common beyond the feature that each deals with the affaires du coeur of a poet. Such must always be the book's interpretation by mental indolence.
There is no reference in its pages to Edgar Stillman-Kelley, Miss Gena Branscombe, Louis Adolphe Coerne, Henry Holden Huss, T. Carl Whitmer, Arthur Farwell, Arthur Foote, or A. J. Goodrich. I am unfamiliar with the causes contributing to this book's comparative obscurity; perhaps, indeed, they are similar to those responsible for the early failure of "Sister Carrie."
"I'd offer thee this hand of mine If I could love thee less!" To Anna that part seemed not so killingly funny or so very interesting, but she was not one of the book's editors. "My heart is ever turning back To the girl I left behind me." "You should have seen the girls," laughs the book.
'There'll be a great fuss about him soon, whispered Aunt Pattie in Lucy's ear 'I don't quite understand but he's written a book that's been condemned; and the question is, will he submit? They give you a year apparently to decide in. Edward says the book's quite right and yet they were quite right to condemn him. It's very puzzling! When Manisty and Mr. Neal answered to the call of luncheon, Mr.
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